One: Gordon Brown
Gordon Brown had just taken a leak, and was standing in front of his bathroom mirror washing his hands. He glanced into the mirror. He did not have movie star looks, but he was nice looking enough. He was 5' 9" tall. His straight brown hair was cut close to his face. He had blue-grey eyes, a nose with an almost imperceptible bump, and a manly, square chin. He worked out a lot, and was pretty muscular. Staring at himself in the mirror, he wondered why he was spending another evening alone at home.
He hit the bars on Friday and Saturday evenings, had a few friends that he socialized with, but rarely made a hook-up. At twenty-nine, he was a lonely man, desperately seeking love. He was a little young to think in terms of a life partner, but not too young to yearn for love.
He had already eaten, and was about to indulge in his redundant evening pastime. He got naked, and sat down at his computer. For the next two or three hours he would alternate his time between watching porn on xvideo.com, and reading male erotica on a gay website. If he was sufficiently aroused by either or both websites, he would masturbate while still watching a video or reading a story. If he wasn't aroused, he whacked off in the shower the following morning.
He decided to start with reading stories this evening. He was more likely to be aroused by videos than written words, and if so, he preferred to whack off just before retiring, rather than early in the evening. He only read one story that particular, fateful night. He read it over and over again, and never even watched a video.
He had read every story posted over the past two years, so now he was searching the archives for other interesting stories. He came across a story titled, "Interrupted Love." Gordie was a hopeless romantic. The title intrigued him. He clicked on the story and started to read. It took place in Germany in the 1930's, and concerned two brilliant, and very promising University students. They were homosexuals, and one was a Jew.
Kurt met Herschel early in their college careers, and they fell madly in love. The author described in beautiful, sensual prose, the manner in which they expressed their love. The author's words reached deep into Gordie's soul. He was moved by the beauty of the prose, and by the love these two boys had for each other. They shared a room together off campus, and one day, The Nazis pulled them out of bed in the middle of the night. They were immediately separated. The Jewish boy was sent off to a concentration camp, and housed in a barracks for Jews. The Christian was sent to the same camp, and isolated in another section of the camp with homosexuals.
They spotted each other occasionally on work details, but it was impossible to speak to one another. Their final meeting was in a gas chamber. They held each other tightly as they died.
Gordie could not stem his tears. He read the beautiful, sad story over and over again. His heart was filled with love for the two boys, and hatred for The Nazis. He felt that he had to send an E mail to the author, and tell him how beautiful and moving his story was.
The author's name was John Sullivan. It sounded like the author had used his real name, but very few did. He wondered if it was a real name or not. He began:
I have not stopped crying, since I read your heart wrenching story, Interrupted Love. I will hold this story in my heart forever.
I just wanted to thank you for sharing the beauty of your soul with us, the readers, and to assure you how appreciated you are.
Gordon Brown, 33 W. 8th Street, New York, NY 10011, [email protected]
He read the story three more times, crying each time as much as the first time. He decided to take a break, and check his E Mail. He was yearning to receive an answer from John. In fact, he was praying to receive an answer.
His E Mail "in box" contained a note from an old college chum in L.A., and something from Mailer Daemon. John's letter was returned as undeliverable.
"NOooooooo," Gordie cried out in anguish. His first thought was that John was dead, and he could never share his thoughts with him, concerning the story. Then he relaxed his torment just a bit, and thought that maybe John had posted a phony E Mail address so he couldn't be reached. Whatever the reason, Gordie became obsessed. He vowed to find out what happened to the author, and if he was still alive, to contact him. Sight unseen, Gordie had fallen in love with John Sullivan, or at least with his story and his prose.
He returned to the story to see if he could glean a clue from all the gobbledygook at the heading of the story, which he had not previously read. He saw something he hadn't noticed before, and he was amazed. Interrupted Love had been posted seven years earlier. If he was to find the author, he was very much dealing with a cold case.
He began his search that very evening. He sent an E Mail to the webmaster inquiring as to the whereabouts of John Sullivan. He received a polite note the very next day. The webmaster said that he had not heard anything from Mr. Sullivan since that story was posted. It was the only one he had ever received from the man. He had no idea where he lived, and even if he did, he could not reveal the information. The best he could do would be to ask Mr. Sullivan to contact Gordon Brown. He had tried to do that, and his E Mail was returned also.
Gordie was determined to keep trying. He read the story over and over again, searching for clues, and he actually found some, but he couldn't be sure. Once and only once, the author spelled "color" the American way, not "colour," so he knew that he was American, and not a Brit, Aussie or Canadian. Somewhere else in the story, the boy in the homosexual barracks tells one of his fellow prisoners that he has an uncle in Cleveland in America, and after the war, he's going to go there.
The obsessed Gordie, decided to attempt to find John through Google, and to start his search in Cleveland. If that was unsuccessful, he would search the entire country for possible candidates. He didn't know why, but intuitively, he felt that the writer of the story was very young, probably a college student, when the story was written. He felt that way because in spite of the beautiful prose, the words were a little too flowery, very sophomoric, in fact. If he was correct, the author would be in his late twenties now, about Gordie's age.
He found dozens of John Sullivan's in Cleveland, but only six who were in their late twenties. He paid extra money to get their home addresses, and wrote each one a note, which he sent via snail mail. He asked if they had ever written a story called, "Interrupted Love," and submitted it for publication. He enclosed a self-addressed, stamped envelope, and asked to be contacted if he had found the right John Sullivan.
He was amazed at how polite Clevelanders were. He received five letters back, informing him that they were not the John Sullivan he was seeking. The sixth recipient never answered him. He recorded the man's address for further reference and extended his search to all of the United States. He had no hope of being successful, but he was so obsessed in his quest, he just went plodding right along.
Every night, he dreamed of his beloved, John. He imagined that he looked very much like he himself did, with one exception, his cock was humongous. Every night, in his dreams, he and John embraced wildly. They sucked tongue until it hurt. Gordie went down on that cock, and then sat on it until it gushed up his ass. His dreams were so real, that his mouth and his ass were sore in the morning.
Two: John Sullivan
John Sullivan was in his sophomore year at OSU in Columbus, Ohio. He had a little obsession of his own. He wasn't Jewish, but he was homosexual. When he read about the holocaust, and how Jews and homosexuals were routinely slaughtered, he could only wonder how the thousands of "good Germans" could have allowed this to happen in their civilized country. Not only did it happen, but they were complicit, and many were glad to join in the slaughter, as long as it wasn't they who were being murdered.
He wrote a little story, which was meant as a condemnation of the holocaust, all its idiocy, and of the Nazis. His story lamented for all the millions of people who died at the hands of the criminal band, and the millions more who died in the war. When it was finished, he realized that he had written it to assuage his soul, which was in anguish. He had no idea what he would do with it. He could never use it for a class assignment. It was too homoerotic.
At the time he penned the story, John was having sex with one of his classmates. One evening, he allowed him to read his story. Without John's knowledge, his fuck-buddy copied the story, and sent it to his favorite website. He never changed the author's name, and the story got published intact, crediting John as the author. John was totally unaware that his story had been published.
He completed his college studies, and taught math in a high school for a few years. Then he did a complete about face with his life. He began to feel terribly guilty about making love to men. He felt he needed to repent for his terrible sin. He fell into the same ridiculous trap that many gay people did. He believed he could stop being gay if he became celibate, or married a member of the opposite sex, or other such nonsense. He knew that if one is truly homosexual, he or she will always be that way, but he chose to ignore a simple truth.
He did a little research, and learned about a monastic order of Jesuit Brothers who lived, studied and worked in a monastery in St Lo, France. He wrote to them, and they informed him that he would be accepted to their order only if he had been baptized in a Catholic Church. John had been baptized in an Episcopal Church, so he had himself re-baptized by a Catholic priest, and began his new adventure, and a new phase of his life, by starting out for St Lo.
On the very last day that the post office in Cleveland would forward John's mail, Gordie's letter arrived, and fortunately it was forwarded to John in St Lo. One day later it would have been returned to sender. More than two weeks later, the letter arrived at its destination. Two hours after that, Gordie received an E Mail.
Dear Mr. Brown:
I received your letter and I had to really search my memory to recall that story. Yes, I did write it, but I never posted it on any website. If you did indeed read it on line, I have no idea how it got there. I would never have let it go public, given the contents of the story. Looking back from the advantage of time, it would thoroughly embarrass me. You see, I am a Jesuit Brother. I live in a monastery in St Lo. Please do not circulate that piece of trash. I trust in your discretion, Brother John.
Goordie answered immediately. In the subject line he typed: Interrupted Love.
Dear John: How can you call that beautiful story trash? I have read it hundreds of times, and I still cry at each reading. You have captured the essence of love with your beautiful words. Let me refresh your memory with one small example of your talent. I quote from the story:
Kurt and Herschel looked deeply into each other's eyes. Somewhere in the universe, world's collided. They wrapped their arms around each other, and their mouths met. Slowly they parted their lips, and used the tips of their tongues to tickle the other's tongue. They both began to shiver in the ecstasy of true love. To keep from fainting dead away, they held each other closer and closer. Their hardened members made contact, tentatively at first, and then throwing caution to the wind, they crushed their cocks together, and in a nanosecond they both came in their trousers.
These words are sheer poetry. You disrespect yourself by calling it trash. In the death scene, you get even more dramatic, and so beautiful:
They were forced naked into the "showers." They had been prodded in separately, but they spotted each other immediately. They fell into each other's arms. This was not a moment to be coy and shy. Nobody else in the chamber paid attention to them anyhow. They all knew that in a few minutes they would be dead. A mumble of prayers in Hebrew and German filled the room, as everyone sought to make peace with whichever God they believed in.
Neither Kurt nor Herschel believed in an afterlife, but in this moment of truth, they dared hope that they would be reunited in heaven, and that God would bless them. They would be soul mates, together, inseparable for all eternity.
They heard a hissing sound, and they knew what was happening. Just as they had done at their first union, they crushed their bodies together. Their cocks embraced, and each climaxed. Suddenly Kurt asked, "Herschel, my beloved, do you hear that?"
Herschel could not speak, but he heard a chorus of heavenly angels. All at once the dark chamber of death was filled with beautiful lights. Kurt and Herschel were illuminated by hundreds of brightly colored spears of radiant lightning bolts. Their feet did not move, but somehow they were being propelled forward, and the lights were getting brighter and brighter.
Without any effort on their part, they suddenly found themselves in a place of serene beauty. As far as they could see, there lay before them miles and miles of green grassland. The grass shimmered as if covered with dew, but it must have been dry, because souls in white robes lay on the grass. Some embraced each other. Others were simply lost in conversation. A young man spotted them, and waved. It was a friend from University, a homosexual friend. The three young men embraced each other. "Welcome," their friend said. "You must be tired from your journey. You may sleep now if you wish."
Kurt and Herschel looked at each other. They were wearing white robes. Hand in hand, they lay down on the mossy green grass, and fell asleep. As they started to doze, they heard the choir of angels that had greeted them in the death chamber, but they weren't afraid now, and they slept in peace for the first time in years.
Please, dear friend, I beg you. Do not ever call your masterpiece, trash. It deserves to be read by the world, but I will not send it out to anyone I know, simply because you request me not to.
I can't describe to you how much your story has affected me. I must meet you, if just to say hello; if just to kiss the hem of your habit. I will be coming to St Lo in the very near future. Just visit with me once. If you wish it to be so, I will not bother you again after that. You see, I love you, and I will do whatever you ask. Do not ask me not to come. That is the only thing you can order me to do, that I will not.
With deep affection, Gordon
Three: Gordon and John
Gordon flew into Paris, and rented a car for his trip to St Lo. The directions he had been given to the monastery from his hotel in St Lo were pretty good, and he arrived with relatively little trouble. He was let in and taken immediately to the Abbot. The Abbot was a handsome man of about fifty years. He was tall, a little over six feet. The light from a candle danced merrily in his sparkling green eyes. He shook Gordie's hand, and smiled.
"What is the purpose of your visit?" he asked in perfect American English. There was no hint of an accent.
"I'm so glad you speak English," Gordie said. "My high school French is very rusty."
"My French isn't much better. I've been here twenty years, and it hasn't improved much. I'm originally from Chicago."
"How do I address you?" Gordie asked politely.
"Brother James will do nicely, or if you wish, just James. Now what can we do for you? I sense that you do not wish to join our order."
"No James. I came to visit Brother John. If you should have more than one John. He's the one from Cleveland."
"We only have one John. Is he a friend from back home?"
"No, sir. Please let me explain. I came across a beautiful, very spiritual story that John had written many years ago. It brought me close to God. It concerned the horrors of the holocaust, yet it was very uplifting. I have read it hundreds of times, and I cry each time."
"Is it possible that I might read the story?"
"I would love to share that story with the world, but John has forbidden it, and I must obey his wishes."
"Then let me ask you a very blunt question. Does the tale reflect John's homosexuality?"
"How did you know?"
"John has discussed it with me on many occasions. He has not kept it a secret. We Brothers have taken a vow of celibacy. It is of no concern what sexual orientation you harbor, we are all chaste here."
"Then to answer your question, the protagonists of the story are gay, and their love making is graphically described. Knowing that, if you still care to read it, John's permission will still be required."
"Fair enough. I'll think about it. In the meantime I'll send for Brother John." The Abbot picked up his phone and hit one number. "Yes, Peter," he said. "Please ask Brother John to come to my office. He should be back from the fields by now."
He hung up, and smiled at Gordie. "We grow our own food here," he said. "John, and a few other Brothers, have been out in the fields all morning, but he should be back by now."
They chatted a few minutes, and James said, "I've been thinking, Mr. Brown..."
"Gordon, then. Gordon, I've been thinking. If the story is as spiritual and uplifting as you say, I would like to read it. I think I can get past the gay literature."
"Good. We'll ask Brother John for permission when he gets here."
The phone rang, and The Abbot listened. "Thank you," he said, and hung up. He turned to Gordie.
"Peter said that John was just getting out of the shower, and would be here as soon as possible. When he gets here, I'll leave you two alone."
"Thank you Brother James. I appreciate that."
They continued to chat, mostly about what everyday life was like at the monastery. Finally there was a knock at the door, and James said, "Enter."
If Gordie had fallen in love with John through his writing, he was now totally smitten. He was a very handsome man. Gordie could never have aspired to have a lover so good looking, not with his ordinary face.
James introduced them. "Take all the time you need," he told John. "Your chores will wait for you."
John and Gordie shook hands, and a tingle went through Gordie's whole body. There was a sofa in The Abbott's room, and John motioned for them to sit down there. It was a small sofa, and Gordie found himself lightly touching John. For a while they just stared at each other. They didn't know what to say, and apparently, both of them were at a loss for words. Finally John spoke.
"How did you get to read my story? I thought I had destroyed it?"
"I came across it on a gay website. They publish gay erotica. I wrote you to tell you how moved I was by your story. I still cry every time I read it. The E Mail I sent you was returned. I feared you might have died. I decided to try to trace you. In the story, you mentioned Cleveland once, so I googled every John Sullivan in Cleveland that was about my age. I don't know how I knew, but from the way you wrote, I thought that you were probably my age.
"There were six John Sullivans. I actually received five negative replies. I didn't receive one from you for quite a while. I guess the letter was forwarded here from Cleveland. I'm not a religious man, but when I heard from you, I fell to my knees, and thanked God."
"Why was it so important to find me?" John asked, looking perplexed.
"Your story changed my life. You gave me a spiritual rebirth, but more importantly, I fell in love with you, John."
John stood up abruptly. "You must know that I have adopted a life of celibacy. I won't go back to my sinful ways."
"How can you, of all people, call love sinful? Your story tells a different side of you. Kurt and Herschel's love is blessed in heaven. You put it in writing, and you believed it at the time you wrote it. Don't you believe it now?"
"Of course I do. Why did you have to come here? I'm so confused, now. I had so simplified my life, and now, you have re-complicated it."
"What did you do before you came here?" Gordie asked.
"I was a math teacher." He paused. "I taught high school math, and I was a good teacher. Everybody said so."
"Don't you feel guilty abandoning your children that way, not to mention giving up your calling?"
"This is my calling now."
"I don't believe that. You're hiding out here. You're afraid to face life. You can't accept being gay. That's wrong. You have to be who you are, and accept it."
"I can't. It's too much to bear." John started to cry.
"I told Brother James that your story was uplifting, and so spiritual it changed my life. He wants to read it, but I told him that I would have to ask you for permission. He said that he suspected it was a gay themed love story, and he wanted to read it anyway. When he left the room, I got up, and closed the door after him. While I was doing that, I slipped a copy of the story into his habit."
"You had no right, "John whimpered.
"I had every right. It's you who has no right to be this selfish. A story that beautiful deserves to be read by as many people as possible."
The door opened, and Brother James came in. There was no doubt he had been crying. He went over to John and embraced him.
"It's a beautiful story," he said. "Those two boys found true love, and they were blessed in heaven. How in the world can you be ashamed of this little masterpiece you have created? You have a gift, John. Don't throw it away. You should continue to write."
"And to teach," Gordie added.
"I'm so confused," John babbled.
"Take a few days off, John," James said. "Go back out in the world with Gordon, and think long and hard about your future. If you choose to stay here, there will always be a place for you. If you choose to leave us, there will always be a place in our hearts for you."
"How can I leave? I don't have any clothes."
"When someone joins our order, we keep his clothes in a locker for one year, should he wish to leave. After that, we donate it to charity. I'll get your clothes." James smiled at John and left.
Gordon completely forgot himself, and he wrapped his arms around John. He kissed him on his lips with a closed mouth. He hadn't realized what he was doing, but when he got his senses back, he realized that John did not resist him, nor did he turn away.
"Where will we go? What will we do?" John asked Gordie.
"For starters, we'll go to my hotel, and talk and talk and talk."
When Brother James saw them to the front door, he said, "John, for the time you are in the outside world, and until you make your decision, you are relieved of all your vows." He handed John's story back to Gordie, who put it in his pocket.
When Gordon and John entered Gordie's hotel room, John froze in place. "There's only one bed," he pointed out.
"Yes," Gordie said, but it's oversized. We can sleep comfortably, and not touch each other, unless you want to touch me."
"Damn you, Gordon. I have fought my homosexuality all my life, and now you come here with all these temptations. I swear you're the devil incarnate."
"Not the devil, sweet man. I come here as a man who is madly in love with you."
"You're not in love with me. You're in love with the words I wrote."
"Those words revealed your soul. I'm in love with your soul, just as Herschel and Kurt were in love with their souls."
"I have so missed having my arms around a man, and having a man's arms around me. I curse you Gordon Brown, because I want desperately to make love to a man tonight. I want to make love to you."
"Holding you in my arms has been all I have ever dreamed about since I first read Interrupted Love. Do you remember how you described the way Kurt and Herschel made love for the first time?"
"Then let me read it to you, and that's how I want us to make love for the first time." He retrieved the now crumpled pages from his pocket, turned a few pages and began to read:
Herschel was frightened, but Kurt took his hand and pulled him into his room. He shut his door and locked it. The two young men stood facing each other, smiling, silent, nervous, and excited, all at the same time.
Kurt started to unbutton his shirt. Herschel was too frightened to move. Kurt removed his shirt, and then his undershirt. Herschel just stood and stared, doing nothing, so Kurt went up to him and started to unbutton his shirt. His lover was not wearing a tee shirt, and now they were both naked from the waist up.
Lust welled up in both of them. They quickly shed the rest of their clothing and stood facing each other. They were very hard now, and there was no difference between Kurt's uncut cock, and Herschel's circumcised one. As they stared into each other's eyes their bodies got closer and closer. Kurt's eyes looked into Herschel's pleadingly. Silently he was asking permission to touch him.
"Yes," Herschel whispered, and Kurt took his cock into his hand and started to knead it gently. Now Herschel did the same to Kurt. They fondled each other for several minutes, and then they leaned into each other and began to kiss. At first they kissed gently, but in time, as lust and passion grew, they began to kiss hard, dueling with their tongues.
Kurt dropped to his knees. He could no longer contain himself, and he took Herschel's pulsating cock into his mouth. He didn't really suck it. It would be more accurate to say that he caressed it lovingly with his tongue and his lips.
"I'm near," Herschel whispered. He expected Kurt to withdraw, but Kurt continued his labors, and Herschel gushed into his mouth. When Herschel softened, Kurt stood up, and kissed him. They shared Herschel's cum.
"Next time. We'll fuck each other," Kurt whispered in his lover's ear, but for now, please do to me what I just did to you."
Gordie stopped reading. "Yes," he said, "let's go down on each other, and next time we can fuck each other."
Gordie and John re-created the love scene between Kurt and Herschel, not once, but three times that night, just as John had described it in his sad little tale. Finally exhausted, they fell asleep in each other's arms. When they awakened the next morning, Gordie was nestled cozily in John's arms.
John made sure that Gordie was awake. He kissed him once and said, "I've made my decision."
Gordie slept peacefully on his voyage home. The droning of the jet engines was very conducive to sleeping. Even though he was returning home alone, he was a happy man. He had found John Sullivan, and they had one night of love. His dreams and his fantasies had become a reality. When the flight attendant came around to collect garbage, he tossed the crumpled pages of Interrupted Love into her bag, and silently said goodbye to John.
John had chosen to live a cloistered life in a monastery. Gordie had tried, but he couldn't dissuade him. He had to respect John's choice. They exchanged E Mails for a while, and then stopped. They went on with their lives, which was all they could do.